


The Protector

by Phedoria



Category: Original Work
Genre: Decapitation, F/M, Fantasy, Gay Character, Gay Romance, Gay Sex, Glass blowing, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Reincarnation, Spiders, talking plants, tarantulas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phedoria/pseuds/Phedoria
Summary: When Milot was born, his parents died. When he was born, he unconsciously invited two men to visit him. Dorian, an immortal mortal who has been forced to live on the Plains for the past 700 years without knowing the reason for his existence. And Ruben, the handsome, humorous Escort of the dead, who came to get his parents.As Milot grows up, losing his loved ones become the theme and the greatest tragedy of his life.Dorian, who has settled for a peaceful, isolated existence, soon realizes it's simply a facade, as the young man begins to invade his life and haunt his thoughts.When the two finally meet, become friends, and eventually lovers, the past that Dorian has no memories of and Milot has done his best to avoid, becomes reality when greater forces invade their lives.Love and loss walk hand in hand in Milot's life. And be it the sassy, sex-crazed Escort of the dead who is trying his best to soothe his giant plant of a wife or Milot's talking cat, none of them are safe or protected when the pieces fall, old rules are broken and the fabric of their lives begin to tear apart.
Relationships: Protector/Shaman, Siphon/Siphon, The Escort/Gatekeeper





	1. Born without permission

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ho!  
> This is one of my original stories that I have written on and off for several years now. I personally love it a lot (like all writers love their works), and I hope you will learn to like it too. The characters that you are about to meet are no means perfect or ideal, in fact, some of their actions will most surely annoy you but if they were all to your liking, where's the fun in that.  
> I have no beta reader for my story, although I've been searching high and low to find one. So for now at least, please excuse all the hideous, clunky language and errors, mistakes, etc. you might notice. I will maybe get around later and try to fix them all. 
> 
> For now, please enjoy this wacky journey to the edges of my imagination. :)

He would always know and remember that his birth meant the death of his mother.

It was a bitterly cold January morning. The sky was bright and filled with stars and if weren't for the city lights one might have been able to see the Milky Way in all of its glory. Even the Moon was curios on this particular night but it was tilted the wrong way and currently orbiting on the other side of the planet, so it didn’t have the chance to witness what was happening. But when it passed by a couple of weeks later, it peered down extra carefully but knew it had missed the actual event. However, from this moment on, whenever the Moon sailed above the skies of this particular spot, it looked down and observed the life of this young, strange man. It missed his birth but was more than satisfied to see what happened in his life.

On that dark, dark morning the boy was just a couple of hours of old and didn't know his mother was struggling for her life. He was a completely normal baby, weighed about six pounds, and as he emerged from his mother's womb, he cried like all the other babies that were born on that same night. There was nothing exceptional about his birth. He was placed on his mother's breasts and when he recognized the familiar heartbeat, the familiar breathing, and his mother's hands on his small head, he calmed down a little. But after a few precious moments, he was whisked away into the arms of a caring nurse who washed him, weighted him, wrapped him in warm clothes, and placed him on a small crib. Then he was taken away from the delivery room. At that point, it didn't matter who took care of him as long as he was warm and safe and fed. He didn't miss the woman whose voice he'd never heard and whose face he'd never seen.

If his mother was not struggling for her life they would have allowed him to stay next to her longer. But she was in labor for hours and lost a lot of blood. Giving birth to him ended her life. And on that early winter morning, her newborn baby inadvertently called two people to his bedside. They were not ordinary people, but of course, he didn't realize that at the time. He was sleeping calmly in his small crib, dressed in tiny pajamas and wearing a small, turquoise cap, completely ignorant of the pain that his mother was going through. If he wasn't a baby, someone might have called him selfish and shameless.

A young man materialized out of thin air. He was tall, dark-haired, slender. Neatly trimmed goatee, chocolate brown eyes, dark sleek eyebrows, and thin lips with a stern expression. His short hair was messy like he was just awakened from a deep sleep and didn't really understand where he was. He looked around in the room that was filled with newborn children and without even realizing, he walked to the crib of a certain baby boy. As he watched the little baby, confusion made his brows knit together. He leaned a little closer as if to dig into the child's mind and find the reason why he was invited here. Clearly, that's what happened. He didn't come here on his own accord. He wasn’t asked to come, no one asked his opinion. He was forced to come. He paid little attention to the other man that appeared on the opposite side of the crib.

This other creature was absolutely gorgeous, too beautiful to be a simple human. Long, dazzling, blond hair, a face like an angel, silky and smooth and pale. Sparkling blue eyes and a striking smile on his luscious lips. He was always in the right place at the right time. He wore a vibrant, violet suit with a fashionable yellow vest. He enjoyed this game and this facade and rarely walked out in the open wearing his true face. Few people were able to resist his beauty and accompanied him willingly. He attracted all genders. After all, wasn't it more pleasurable to leave this mortal plane if you could do it in a company of a beautiful, attractive person?

A nurse came by the maternity ward but paid no attention to the two men. She walked to the crib and caressed the child's soft cheek. She smiled but it was a sad, pitiful smile and she felt very sorry for this little, handsome guy. She wrote down something on the patient's card, and then she turned and walked straight through the tall, dark-haired man. She didn't see him or feel anything in particular as she passed through his body. He barely noticed her. His gaze was still focused on the child that lay sleeping on his crib.

"Surprise, surprise," the long-haired, dazzling man chuckled. "What have we here? A real cutie, don't you think so?"

The tall, dark-haired man didn't answer. He looked at the child, stared at him, and then he rubbed his chin. It was a gesture of nervousness and confusion, something he always did when he was puzzled or thinking of something. The soft bristles of his beard usually gave him a sense of security and calmed him down. He didn't know why he was here. Did the child call him? Invited him here? He glanced up at his old, beautiful friend and his eyes narrowed.

"Ruben, is he going to die?" he asked. "Did you really bring me here to witness the death of a newborn baby?"

The young, gorgeous death snapped his fingers and a bunch of papers emerged out of thin air. He put on a pair of round spectacles as if he needed them and ruffled the papers for a while. He read them through like he was actually looking for some information he didn’t already know. The dark-haired man sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do you really need to be so dramatic?" he murmured. 

"How sick do you think I am, Dorian?" the death replied. "It's how things work in my world. Death is constant drama or tears and breakdowns and enormous emotions. Some people even pee out of fear when they think about it. But to answer your question – have no fear, he is not going to die."

"Then why are you here?" Dorian asked.

"I could ask you the same question," Ruben grinned. "Were you called here for some specific reason? You are wearing your pajamas. I never knew you liked Moomin's that much."

"It's 4 AM," Dorian groaned. "I was sleeping and they are comfy."

"Naturally," Ruben smiled. "I almost forgot that you are still that much of a human."

"Well?" Dorian looked at him. "Why are _you_ here, then?"

"His poor mother is running out of time," Ruben snapped his fingers and the papers disappeared. "This little guy. Born just a few moments ago. One had to be rather cruel to take him away so soon, don't you agree?"

"The mother?" Dorian nodded. "I see."

"She has about eight minutes," Ruben glanced at his pocket watch and turned to his friend again. "In the meantime, I would like to know why you came here."

"I don't know," Dorian replied and combed his fingers through his dark, thick hair.

"There has to be a reason, right?" Ruben leaned closer and gently touched the child's cheek. It was warm under his cold fingers. "Either he called you here or you came because you knew he was born. Which is it?"

"Wait...you didn't call me here?" Dorian asked.

"Me?" Ruben glanced at him. "Since when do I have such powers?"

If I came here deliberately, do you think I'd come in my pajamas?" Dorian growled.

"How should I know?" Ruben chuckled. "You look great in them and you just told me they are comfy. Maybe it's your new style."

"If his mother is the one who is dying, why you came to him?" Dorian cleared his throat.

"I took a detour," Ruben explained. "I know why she is dying and I wanted to see the little rascal responsible. We don't get to see those too often these days. The ones who end up killing their parents on the day they are born."

"Parents?" Dorian raised his eyebrows. "I thought only came for his mother."

"I met his father a couple of hours ago," Ruben smiled innocently. "He slipped on the parking lot when he was running here to see his newborn son. Poor bastard banged his head on the ice and cracked his skull. When he realized he was dead, he was quite upset. I told him that his son was very cute, adorable, and extremely healthy. Imagine that. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he might still be alive. Emphasis on the word “ _might_ ”. That’s not very realistic though, these things are planned very carefully."

Dorian frowned. This was rather strange. First the little guy's father and now his mother, a couple of hours later. What a rough start for life. He almost felt pity towards the little boy but he didn't understand where such feelings came from. Then he realized it was simple human sympathy. It was normal to feel bad when the newborn child is orphaned at birth. Ruben observed his friend and saw a mixture of emotions on his face. He had known this man for the past four hundred years and before their paths crossed, he'd heard of him and knew that he was an oddity, a strange phenomenon whose existence no one could or wanted to explain. Of course, he was created by something or someone but Ruben didn’t have high enough clearance to get the answers he wanted. He didn't know how old Dorian was and _what_ exactly he was, but the endless flow of time made them good friends. They were like brothers, part of a dysfunctional, strange family, slipping in and out of this world and its multiple plains. There was very little in this world that could take Dorian by surprise. They were both very curious when it came to this little man. Why this child called him here and how he exactly did it.

"I have to go now," Ruben took his glassed off and folded them neatly inside his suit pocket.

"Go then," Dorian nodded.

"Are you going to adopt this little guy?" Ruben teased him. "If you keep him by your side at all times, you might find out how he managed to invite you here today."

"What makes you think I care?" Dorian muttered.

"As if I don't know you. You have a soft spot for poor little orphans," Ruben pointed out. "Even if this was the only time he used this little trick of his, you won't be able to sleep soundly for another two hundred years or so, am I right?"

"Probably an accident," Dorian muttered.

"Sure," Ruben laughed. "Let's call it that for now."

The beautiful, blond-haired death shrugged his shoulders. He waved his hand nonchalantly and walked out of the nursery. His slender figure moved like water toward the emergency ward. The tall, dark man knew very well that nothing else would happen here tonight, the child wouldn't open its mouth and tell him why he needed him here on the moment of its birth. He decided it was time for him to leave but as he moved away from the crib the baby suddenly reached out his hand and grabbed his pinky finger. Dorian flinched. He was startled for the first time in nearly seven hundred years. The grip of the newborn was strong and unyielding.

When he turned the child's eyes were open. Two deep blue orbs bore into his skull. He had never seen such a gaze in the eyes of a child. He was sure the baby knew who he was like this little brat had all the answers and was determined to keep him by his side. Even though he couldn't talk, his eyes spoke of secrets and knowledge that were not from this world. He swallowed and tried to yank his finger away but as he did so the child's grip tightened. The baby didn't cry or scream. Its little face didn't twist the way some babies do just before they start to weep. It was simply holding his finger in its small, tight fist.

A couple of minutes later a young, beautiful man walked by the nursery. His smile was assuring and his arm was wrapped around a woman's shoulder. The lady he was with was short, thin, and devastatingly pale. They momentarily stopped by the nursery and she looked through the window. The woman lifted her hand and watched the child who was still holding the stranger's finger in its small fist. The child turned its head towards his mother. She smiled, tears swelled in her eyes and she mouthed the words _"love you."_ Then Ruben gently guided the woman away and they disappeared around the corner. Dorian felt how the grip loosened and his finger was slowly released.

When he turned to look at the child, he had already closed his eyes and was once again quietly and innocently sleeping in his crib, safely under the soft, warm blankets. 


	2. Milot

The little, orphan boy was adopted a couple of months after his birth. The parents he received were the best of their kind. They had wished for a child for a long time and now, as they carried the little bundle in their arms and into their home and into their hearts, they felt like their lives were now perfectly completed.

He was named Milot.

His father was interested in French wines and his mother was fascinated by the indigenous people in the North of their country, their customs, their culture, and their folktales and thus his name was a mixture of their two interests.

Little Milot turned out to be an especially easy baby. He slept when he was sleepy and he ate when he was hungry. He never cried without a reason and as soon as his needs were satisfied, he lowered his voice and became almost frighteningly silent. Since he couldn’t talk yet, crying was the only way he could attract his parent’s attention, even though that was not always necessary. They were already enthralled and captured by him and it didn’t take long when he could communicate his needs with his eyes and thus, he cried even less than before.

When he was awake, he observed the world around him with his big, blue eyes, and smiled to his parents whenever they were close to him, held him, or talked to him. His mother was a veterinarian and his father a lawyer who owned his own small company. Their cozy brick house was situated in a nice area, surrounded by a lush, green fence, large lawn, and a couple of old apple trees. It was close to the schools, the daycare, to the supermarket, and to the library. All in all, his childhood was meant to be a happy one.

On warm summer days, his mother took him outside in the backyard and placed him on a soft blanket. He looked at the sky, looked at the clouds, and smiled. He was a happy baby but sometimes his mother noticed that his eyes were much older than the rest of her little boy. This young man of hers was looking at the world with the eyes of an adult and it seemed he was in a hurry to grow up. Hurry to walk, hurry to talk, and hurry to learn new things. She wished she just imagined things but nevertheless she adored and doted on him. And despite her love and her will of spoiling him, she was determined to raise him up properly.

At two years old Milot was a beautiful child. His eyes were the color of the summer sky, blue and wild and untamed. His growing hair was dark and silky and his mother loved to brush it, with her hands or with a small comb. Neither his mother nor his father could explain the charm of his interesting eyes or his gorgeous smile, but they were both wrapped around his tiny fingers and there was no amount of love that was too much for them to give.

When he was four, his parents bought him a kitten. It was a small, black tomcat with long, silky white whiskers, soft paws, and shining yellow eyes. Unlike many four years olds, he was attentive and careful with the little cat. He never pulled its tail or pinched its ears and soon enough they became good friends. He named him Pawie. That little black hairball slept at the end of his bed and refused to leave it before he woke up the next morning. Only then it accompanied him to the kitchen for breakfast. When he started preschool at the age of five, Pawie always waited for him by the window in their foyer and his black tail began to swipe from left to right just before returned home. His mother learned of this tactic and always had some snacks waiting for him when he came home.

Time and time again his mother always told him not to take Pawie outside without a harness but it was the morning of his sixth birthday when he did exactly that. He was in the backyard, playing in the snow with his little friend when a giant garbage truck passed by their house and scared the little cat. At the same time, his father was leaving for work, and just as he reversed the heavy family Volvo out of the garage, Pawie ran straight under the huge, studded back tire. Milot could hear its small bones being crushed and his mother rushed from inside and grabbed him in her arms, trying to shield him from the awful sight. He knew he was to blame but he never shed a single tear. Some small voice inside him told him this was all part of the plan. Pawie was meant to die so he could return as soon as possible. As his father picked up the small body of the cat from underneath his tire, Milot thought he momentarily saw another figure beside his father. A shining shadow of a tall, fair-haired man who gently caressed the cat and smiled. “ _Can’t be!”_ he thought in his little mind. “ _Is he actually accompanying animals now as well? Just how low has he gone in the world?”_

Pawie was buried underneath the apple tree and his father made a little sing where they carved its name, its birthday, and the day of its death. A year passed by and Milot went to the first grade. When he did his homework by the kitchen table and glanced outside, he sometimes saw that small little sign and remembered Pawie. He often smiled but didn’t seem sad at all. It was like he was expecting something.

On the day when he turned nine and was in the third grade, he returned from school, carrying his pack bag and wearing a green winter jacket with a pair of warm boots and red mittens. And on that day, Pawie came back to him. It was lying on top of a small snow hill right next to their front door. His father always shoveled the snow on the right side and thus the hill was formed. Milot stopped at the door and banged his feet against the doorframe to get rid of the excess snow. Then he smiled at Pawie, patted its small head, scratched it behind the ears, and opened the door. The cat slipped in and jumped on top of his bed like it never left in the first place.

It wasn’t exactly the first time when his parents watched his actions through their fingers. They were startled, even a bit afraid and his father almost went as far as to dig up the old grave to see if the skeleton of the dead kitten was still inside of the small wooden coffin. Eventually, his parents allowed him to keep the cat but only after a thorough examination, vaccination, and deworming. They both agreed that it reminded them of Pawie and after Milot began to call it the same name, they hastily assured each other that it was definitely not the same cat but simply a very similar one. But from that first day onward, Pawie once again slept on the boy's bed, refused to leave it before he woke up and waited for him by the window on the foyer.

As he began fourth grade, a new boy was transferred to his class. He was same the same age and lived in the same neighborhood so it was quite natural that they became friends. His name was Tommy. He was a ginger with a face full of freckles, a wide smile, a boisterous laugh, and a mouthful of bracers. He was big and tall and fat and his head was full of crazy ideas and more often than not, he grabbed Milot’s hand and dragged him to some weird adventure in the nearby woods. Sometimes they were pirates, sometimes they were treasure hunters, and sometimes they were superheroes. Tommy’s weight didn’t stop him from moving like a ninja when he wanted and he liked sports and baseball and his mother often took them to watch the games. Milot didn’t really care for it but for Tommy’s happiness, he accompanied him, cheered and screamed when he did, smiled, and laughed when he did, and jumped up and down when he did.

As Milot’s tenth birthday closed in, he once again felt like he was waiting for something. When Pawie returned to him, he knew it was coming back. But this time he didn’t really know what he was waiting for. By now, he was used to listening to these strange feelings and voices inside his head and he didn’t contradict or suspect them. He never mentioned them to his parents because he knew they would first pretend to understand him but behind the doors of their master bedroom, they would talk with low voices of how worried they were because of him, and maybe they should do something or take him to see “ _someone_ ”. He knew they had one of those “master bedroom talks” when Pawie returned. In the end, they decided to ignore the similarity of the two cats and soon enough they forgot the “original” Pawie who was supposedly buried underneath the apple tree in their back garden. But Milot knew for a fact that if they dug up that little grave and opened the small, wooden box, it would be completely empty. Pawie came back, not in the shape of another cat, but as himself.

Two days before his birthday, Milot began to cough and sneeze. His throat was hurting, his ears were aching and his whole body was covered in a cold sweat. His mother took him to see a doctor and she diagnosed it as a common cold and prescribed him antibiotics for a week. His mother ordered him to stay in bed but allowed him to watch some cartoons and play some games. Pawie never left his side and eventually, his father moved the cat food and the water bowl to his room since the ever-watchful tomcat refused to move from its place. He only left the room twice and after quickly relieving himself in the bathroom, in his own little toilet, he returned and kept his yellow eyes on Milot.

On the early morning hours of his tenth birthday, when the snow gently drifted down and the neighborhood was completely silent, Pawie lifted its head, moved closer to Milot, and curled next to his shoulder. The boy was still hot as a stove, his fever still high. He began to sweat and trash around, tossed his blanket aside, and moaned quietly. His mother, who usually had exceptional hearing especially when it came to him, didn’t stir from her sleep. She simply turned around and inched closer to her husband, who wrapped his arm around her tighter. In Milot’s bedroom, Pawie lifted its yellow eyes and examined the stranger who now stood beside the bed.


	3. Ten years later

It had been exactly ten years. This time he was not wearing pajamas and he did not look like he was just yanked awake from a deep sleep. His hair was neatly combed, his beard as silky and trimmed as before. He had not aged a day. His brown eyes as inquisitive and as puzzled as before. He was wearing light blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and two pairs of warm socks. He was jerked from the comfort of his armchair into this small child’s bedroom where the only illumination was the dim glow of the nearby streetlight that slithered through the curtains. He didn’t know how exactly he came to be here; to this day it remained as a mystery. But the boy sleeping on the bed was clearly agitated and nervous. His movements very twitchy, his eyelids fluttered, his eyes moved around like he was trying to find someone in that perpetual darkness of his dreams. His thin hair was plastered to his forehead and a few beads of sweat traveled down his temples.

The cat looked at him and then glanced at the boy. He felt like it was trying to say something to him, tell him to help the boy now that he was here. He pulled out a small chair and set next to the bed. He looked at the cat and the cat stared back, clearly irritated now. He crossed his right leg neatly over the left one and leaned a bit forward. He was once again rubbing his beard and his other hand rested on top of his leg. The cat became frustrated, and it circled around the boy's head, sat next to him, and nudged his hand. Then it looked at the boy.

He hesitated for a moment. Then he reached out his hand and gently touched the boy’s forehead. It was hot and sweaty and his palm was cool and dry. As soon as he made the contact, the boy seemed to calm down. His breathing became slower, his body relaxed and his eyelids stopped twitching.

Milot opened his eyes. And in that instant, in that fleeting fraction of a second, he remembered everything. Dorian was about to jerk his hand away, but the boy grabbed it and kept it where it was. He was still feverish, his head was aching and he was swimming in his own sweat, but at that moment everything inside his brain locked neatly into place and he realized that he was a ten-year-old boy, lying on his bed, feverish and in pain, and still he knew more about this world and the layers of this life than anyone before or after him.

He looked at the man sitting next to his bed and realized Dorian remembered nothing and was confused and out of his element. Dorian, that young man, who once was so enthusiastic, so full of life and curious in every possible way, had grown into this solemn, quiet man who thought he knew everything there was to know. His lonely, unnaturally prolonged existence made him serene, calm, and too serious. Milot wished he could have explained, tell him everything right here and now. Tell him that he came back, returned to as he promised. But explaining things with a voice of a ten-year-old would have made everything sound like lunacy or feverish gibberish and he realized he had to wait. Returning Dorian’s memories was the first thing he had to do, but he was not completely in his element yet, only a fraction of his powers remained.

What he was most afraid of were his own mistakes. The traces of the corruption that loomed over this man’s shoulders. He knew it would accompany him but it was still unnerving to see it. To realize it was there and waiting. Back then, hundreds of years ago, he had given his consent, believed there was nothing else he could do. In his greed and selfishness, he opened to door to his dark brother, and as long as he and that other creature remained on the Plains, things would always remain unbalanced. The corruption lifted his hand and waved as if welcoming him back. 

He was restless in this body of a young child and his need to grow up into an adult increased. He couldn’t do anything as a child, but he believed he was at least somewhat cleansed of his crimes. Clean enough to have a second chance. The Gatekeeper allowed him through ( _was forced to let him through!_ ), that alone had to mean something. To be here now was the reason he sacrificed the last remaining thing he had, and broke all of his own rules.

His companion, his partner in crime, his dark brother, stood behind Dorian. A smiling figure of a man, tall and thin with burning eyes and glowing red hair. Utterly charming and carefree. It leaned a little forward as if asking did he remember their agreement. Milot looked at him, its light-hearted smile and the sharp claws of the anxiety dug into his chest. He took once glance at it and as he tightened his grip on Dorian’s hand the charismatic man chuckled and amusement flashed in its eyes. _Still so dramatic?_ it's voice whispered in his head. 

_What did you gain from all this?_ he allowed dangerous questions to form inside his head. The creature leaned closer and stroke Dorian’s hair gently with its long, slender fingers. The smile never faded. “ _Gain?_ ” Its voice replied inside his head. “ _Who said I wanted to gain something? Maybe I just wanted to have some fun.”_

Meanwhile, the cat stared at the boy and then at the man. It was waiting for some kind of reaction, a signal, or a sign. When nothing happened, it nudged Milot’s cheek with its wet nose and meowed. As soon as the animal touched his face, the smiling creature behind Dorian dissolved and yanked Milot out his dark thoughts.

“Pawie,” the boy wheezed, finally released Dorian’s hand and caressed the cat.

“Finally,” Pawie sighed. Its voice was high-pitched and inhumane. “I was so sick and tired of being quiet all the time.”

Dorian practically flew off his chair and nearly knocked it over. Milot bit his lower lip, closed his eyes for a moment, and listened. No movement from the master bedroom. He allowed his body to relax. Pawie sat down, licked its tail, and rolled its eyes dramatically.

“As if you’ve never seen a talking cat before,” Pawie’s eyes sparkled. “So uneducated for a..."

“Pawie!” Milot interrupted him and pinched its tail. “Not now.”

“No need to get violent,” Pawie swiped its tail from under his arm and sat down again. However, patience wasn’t engraved into its nature and soon enough it began to purr and push against the feverish child.

Dorian cleared his throat, pulled the chair back, and carefully sat down, further away this time. He kept his eyes on the cat and the cat stared back at him, almost grinned. Somewhere from the back of his mind a familiar and rather annoying image slowly began to emerge. But it was not in the shape of a cat…it was…

“Are you alright?” Milot asked him and broke his line of thought, prevented the image to become complete. The question sounded weird and rather comical coming from his mouth, especially now when his voice was childlike and raspy.

“Give me some answers,” Dorian replied. “Explain how you do this.”

“This?” Milot cocked his eyebrows. ”Can you be more specific?”

“Just because you are a kid, doesn’t mean I can’t get rough with you,” Dorian frowned. “I’m not that patient, you know.”

“You used to be,” Milot whispered but as he saw Dorian’s eyes widen, he coughed and grinned. “And I wouldn’t recommend being too rough just yet. When I’m not a minor, you can be as rough as you want, I promise.”

Dorian swallowed and inched his chair a bit further away again. What was this annoying little kid doing? Was he actually ( _does he even dare to think about it?_ ) flirting? He was startled by the idea as the sudden realization came to him. He certainly was and it felt so wrong and so weird, strange, and perverted. Illegal! But at the same time, there was a familiar and warm feeling that lingered, a tone he almost recognized from somewhere long, long ago. The boy was talking like he was an adult who understood such things. He had seen this boy when he was just a couple of hours old and back then he grabbed his finger in his small fist. Now, he was ten years old and he grabbed his whole hand. Next time they would meet…what would he grab then? The thought sent shivers through his spine and he closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

“I have some painkillers if you feel like you need them,” Milot nudged his head towards his night table. “Next to the lamp.”

“What exactly are you?” Dorian ignored him. ”How can you just call me next to you whenever you feel like it?”

“I think this is only the second time I’ve done that,” Milot replied. “Haven’t you been at peace for the past ten years? It’s not like I invite you to accompany me every other day.”

“It’s his special talent,” Pawie opened his mouth when he couldn’t stay silent any longer. The cat wanted to spill the beans so badly it barely could contain itself. “He uses it only when there’s really no other way…”

“Shut up!” Milot slapped his butt and Pawie hissed at him. It scoffed and then it settled down, lifted its back legs, and began to lick its butt like it wasn’t sitting on someone’s sickbed, next to his owner’s face.

Dorian moved his eyes to the cat. It seemed to be the weakest link here. Pawie noticed his stare and its tongue stopped in the middle of the action. And like a normal, overly confident cat that doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone, like it knew for sure what it was doing, proud and ignorant, it lifted its tail up high, took a few hurried steps, and dived under Milot’s blanket, right under his armpit. The boy chuckled awkwardly and patted its head.

“I’ve lived for nearly a thousand years on the Planes,” Dorian finally said. ”There aren’t many things I don’t know. But you…” he moved his eyes back to the boy. ”You are something else. I can’t figure you out and it frustrates me.”

Milot didn’t reply. He knew what Dorian was like, of course, the situation ground his gears. At this time and place, the less he said the better. It was because of him that Dorian lingered on in this place and in his current situation – being a sickly little ten-year-old boy – he couldn’t help him, couldn’t give him his memories back or explain or solve the situation.

“You talk like you’ve known me before,” Dorian continued and his voice was softer now. “Like we’ve met somewhere. You are more than meets the eye. What are you?”

“You better go,” Milot coughed and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. “I have a cold and I’m tired. My mom told me to sleep. I really shouldn’t talk to strangers. Besides…it would look really weird if she walked in here and saw you sitting right next to my bed.”

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Dorian asked. "You are the one who brought me here."

"I didn't," Milot said. 

He turned his back on him and listened. His body was stiff and he wasn’t sure would Dorian grab his arm, turn him by force and demand more answers. But after a while, he heard how the man sighed, stood up, and took a few steps. The curtains moved like a weak wind drifted through the room and then he was gone. Milot wrapped his arms around Pawie and the cat poked its head from under the blanket.

“I don’t remember him being so scary before,” Pawie whined. “As a teenager, he was cheery, almost too happy to my liking, smiling and laughing every time he came to see us. Why is he like that now?”

“Time changes us all,” Milot whispered. “He was naïve and innocent back then. Now he has seen things that he was not meant to see. No wonder he’s bitter.”

“Now what?” Pawie muttered.

“Would you like to have a friend, Pawie?” Milot asked after being quiet for a long while.

“What?” Pawie yawned and stretched its legs. ”You mean…like another pet? Don’t tell me you’re thinking about a dog. Those things are stupid as all hell!”

“No, not a dog,” Milot smiled. “How about…a spider? A tarantula?”

“Can they talk?” Pawie pondered.

“No, but you can’t talk either,” Milot told him. ”Keep your mouth shut in front of everyone.”

“Really?” Pawie rolled his eyes. ”I’m so tired just saying meow all the time.”

“If you start babbling in front of mom and dad, what do you think they’ll do?” Milot asked him. Pawie looked at him and seemed to consider his options. After a while, it nudged his shoulder, turned on his stomach, and stretched.

“Alright,” the cat purred. ”I promise I won’t talk, if you rub my tummy, give me lots of treats and play with me every day.”

“You are as shameless as ever,” Milot giggled but ran his fingers through the cat’s soft fur. ”That’s what I do every day already.”

“Why do you want a spider, though?” Pawie licked his paw and washed his ear while enjoying the tummy rub.

“From what I remember, the teenage Dorian hated spiders,” Milot grinned. “If that still holds true, the bigger I get the better.”

“But he means so much to you,” Pawie pointed out. “Do you want to scare him off?”

“Just in case he shows up demanding for answers before I can give him any,” Milot said. “If he does, I can just…throw it at him, I guess…”

“Do you know how stupid that sounds?” Pawie interrupted him. “If you were an adult, it would be even stupider. Good thing you are still a kid so idiocy like that can be forgiven.””

Milot sighed dramatically. “I keep forgetting I’m only ten years old. How am I ever going to be able to wait for another eight years? Or go to school and pretend to be a fourth-grader?”

“Milot,” his mother’s soft voice drifted from the hallway. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“Yeah, mom!” Milot replied with an angelic voice. ”I just needed to pee and I’m a bit thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water, honey,” his mother replied. “Is Pawie there with you?”

“Where the hell would I be if not here?” Pawie hissed but Milot pinched its tail and the cat obediently opened his mouth and let out a gentle meow.


	4. The drum and the dagger

As Dorian returned home, the cozy armchair, the book, and the hot cup of coffee by the side table seemed like from another world. He stood next to his chair for a moment, picked up the mug, and noticed that his drink was still warm and steamy. He glanced at the clock. He’d only been gone for five minutes. He took a sip from his mug, tasted the rich texture of the drink, and walked to the large living room windows. He stared over the hills and into the river valley below.

The place where he lived, had lived for all his life, used to be a quiet, drowsy place. Back then only a couple of hundred people lived in the small village near his house. But as the years ran by, the village turned into a booming winter resort, filled with ski slopes, hotels, spas, and other tourist attractions. He could clearly see the lights in the slopes, almost heard the music in the night clubs. Creating this small sanctuary with its modern, technological wonders was sort of game to him. He constructed a building here and another there and allowed only a certain number of well-known companies into his city. He never allowed nature to be polluted or destroyed or built anything unnecessary that might rupture the peace of the wild desert that surrounded his winter wonderland. He created this place, invested a lot of money, and got more in return. He owned this little city, every piece of land that it was built on but he never felt greed to own more or to have more. He was content with what he had now and in recent years, had turned away a lot of interested investors. 

He glanced up in the sky and saw the bright stars and the Milky Way, Aurora’s dancing like wildfire up there, high in the atmosphere. Usually watching them twist and turn and slither up and down calmed his mind but this time he found no solace in front of their spectacular flames. For the first time in nearly a thousand years, his mind was looking for answers to multiple, difficult questions. In all honesty, it actually felt refreshing and on a certain level, he found this new distraction to be quite enjoyable.

What is that boy? How is he connected to me? Have we known each other before? How is he doing that? Calling me over to him? He’s a kid, so maybe he doesn’t do it on purpose, Dorian allowed his thoughts to flow. He was feverish, sleeping, in the clutches of a nightmare. Did he call me there unconsciously? And if so, then the boy might not be able to explain it himself. But…but…when he asked him about it, he ignored the question. He didn’t say “ _I don’t know_.” He was quiet like he knew the answer but didn’t want to tell me.

Have we known each other before? Have I have seen him somewhere? Dorian took another sip from his mug and stared into the night. The snow reflected the moonlight so the scenery was never really completely enveloped in darkness. The kid is only ten years old. But could it be that he is… _reborn_? And in his past life, he was someone…important? To me?

That thought reverberated somewhere deep down in his mind. Reborn. "Is he reborn?" he whispered aloud and as he did so, something strange happened. It wasn't a sound he heard, at least not with his ears. It was more like a feeling he sensed with his mind. If someone asked him to explain it with words, he couldn't have. But he knew where that emotion came from. He swirled around, left his ug on the living room table, and walked downstairs. 

He switched on the light and entered his private collection of old artifacts, paintings, and other valuable collectibles he had gathered throughout his life. Every item here carried some importance to him, was part of his life in some shape or form. He didn't collect things because he thought they might someday be valuable. He passed old oil paintings that would have been invaluable now, museums, private collectors, and other institutes would have paid almost anything to get their hands on them. Weapons, coins, medals granted in all the wars he had seen at been at. But now something far older called out to him and he walked briskly to the other end of this large, bright room. 

And there it was, quietly reverberating through his mind. The room was completely quiet, his ears didn't pick the sound. His eyes didn't see any movement. And old drum made out of animal skin, weathered and so fragile it would tear apart if he touched it. Still, he raised his arm and gently caressed the drum. As he did so, it reacted again and the low, deep thumb traveled through his body and his soul. Another forgotten object next to the drum answered its call. 

A bony dagger, sharp, thin, and inscribed with old, curious symbols began to glow and shimmer. Dorian gasped and stepped back. The dagger pulsed, the runes on its blade sparkled and he could sense something incredibly dangerous emanating from it. A single, dark red drop of blood slid down the blade and as it hit the floor, he almost gagged. 

Hunger. It was hungry. Insatiable. It was awoken by the drum and the drum was awoken by him. No...Dorian shook his head. Not because of him. He had no clue what he was doing. He didn't come here on his own accord. He didn't even remember he owned these items. The boy had something to do with this. The boy was connected to them.

He had been...reborn.

The word echoed through his mind and the drum once again reacted. This time the sound was low and dark, deep and suffocating. Like a heavy pulse underwater which he could not see but felt how it tore his lungs apart. That feeling of nausea and drowning drove him out of his basement and as he slammed the door shut behind him, he took a deep breath, as if something had really tried to smother ( _kill him!)_ him down there. Below the surface of his own mind. 

He walked back to the living room, put on warm shoes, opened the balcony door, and stepped outside. The snow cracked under his feet and the night was bitterly cold. He hadn’t been the sun in weeks because of the Polar Night. His warm breath immediately cooled as it left his body and drifted upwards in a soft, white cloud. But he wasn’t cold. He was used to this and he enjoyed the winter, enjoyed the perpetual night, and the clear lights from the stars above him. He enjoyed the quietness of the space and the crackling sound of snow under his feet.

“What are you doing out here?”

Dorian didn’t even need to turn his gaze because Ruben’s voice was way too familiar to him. Seeing him here brought comfort and almost drove those dark omens out of his mind. When he glanced at him, he couldn't contain himself and nervous laughter escaped his mouth. The fabulous Escort of death looked rather ridiculous in his thick winter coat, wearing a bright red scarf around his neck. He even had blue mittens in his hands and as he lifted his hands to his mouth like he wanted to warm his fingers with his breath, Dorian rolled his eyes and chuckled. There was no warm steam coming out from his mouth and no matter what time of the year it was, Ruben didn’t feel the warmth of the sun of the bitter bite of the frost.

“Is someone dying?” Dorian finally asked, wrapped his hands around his mug, and took another sip.

”An old lady at the rest home is leaving soon,” Ruben replied. He took off his coat and tossed it over Dorian’s shoulders. “You’re going to freeze your balls off if you walk around naked.”

“I’m not naked,” Dorian scoffed. “I have a shirt and pants on as you can see. I even put on warm shoes.”

“Practically naked,” Ruben shrugged. “I don’t want to find a contract with your name on my desk in one of these days. Cause of death: pneumonia or hypothermia.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time?” Dorian smiled.

“Would you allow me to accompany you?” Ruben fluttered his lashes.

“I’d trust you to lead me anywhere,” Dorian said and as soon as those words left his mouth, he felt like someone pricked him with a sharp needle. _I’d trust you to lead me…anywhere…_ It sounds so familiar. Like I’ve said before.

”I don’t think I could handle it,” Ruben wiped his eyes like he was crying. “Letting go of you…it would be too much for my fragile little heart.”

“You were able to let of go of Virginia,” Dorian pointed out. “And she is your wife. You were together for thousands of years.”

“I don’t think I need to remind you that she cut off my head,” Ruben smiled but it was not a happy smile. “It’s easy to let go of an angry harpy like that.”

“You still miss her,” Dorian nudged him. “Admit it.”

“It’s not like I’ll ever see her again,” Ruben sighed. “So yeah, I guess there’s no shame of admitting it. That woman… really knew how to talk dirty in bed. You would not believe half the things she said.”

“Spare me the details,” Dorian emptied his mug, slipped his hands into the coat sleeves, and closed the zipper. “Are you in a hurry?”

“She still has an hour or so,” Ruben said. “Her family is saying goodbyes. Why…what’s on your mind?”

“That boy,” Dorian began. ”He…called to me again.”

“What boy?” Ruben narrowed his eyes.

”The boy from ten years ago,” Dorian punched his shoulder. “Whose parents you took on that same night.”

“Aaah…that boy,” Ruben nodded. “Now I remember him. That cute little guy who managed to kill his parents…right. Did you know I got a promotion that night? I was extra sensitive to the mother. I even allowed her to see her baby. My superiors were very impressed.”

“He is…very strange,” Dorian muttered. 

“He was an oddball already back then,” Ruben shrugged. “Cute but odd. Some people are born creepy. Who knows, he might turn out to be a serial killer. That would be rather fantastic. More work for me and plenty of opportunities to get another promotion.”

“How many people you know that has a talking cat?” Dorian asked.

“That’s a bit different,” Ruben admitted. "But still within the boundaries of normal. I haven't seen a cat talk, but I've seen parrots."

They were quiet for a while, both buried deep in their own thoughts. Ruben couldn’t really help him but he knew the vast and complicated corridors of death and he might have a chance to find out more about the boy. They had known each other for hundreds of years. Ruben was a liar because it was part of his persona. Death often required beautiful lies because humans were so scared of facing the truth. But with Dorian, he was different. Whenever Dorian asked him something sincerely, he always did his best to answer truthfully. He had a nasty mouth but he was always brutally honest when he felt like it.

“Can you get me some information?” Dorian finally decided to probe a little. Ruben snapped his fingers and a notebook and pen appeared on his hands.

“Tell me, my friend, what you want to know.”

“If the boy has reincarnated,” Dorian said. “I’d like to know who he was before. When and how he lived? Why he died?”

”You put too much faith in me. As if I was a secret agent in some spy movie. I was promoted,” Ruben shook his head and put his pen away. ”But I don’t have a clearance to get into the rehabilitation department. Hell, I don’t even know anyone who works there. And you know the rules. Mortals are not meant to know these things.”

“Right,” Dorian nodded. ”I guess here is where the trail ends. For now. I’ll just have to wait. He doesn’t want to tell me. He knows but he doesn’t want to tell me. So I’ll wait for you, little guy.”

”He’s still a kid, remember that,” Ruben handed his mittens to Dorian. “Don’t mess around too much. The prisons of the mortal world aren't nice to child molesters. But the ones in the Halls...even worse."

“As if I would ever..." Dorian scowled at him and warmed his hands in Ruben’s mittens. “You can be sure I’ll stay as far away from him as I can. Let’s hope he doesn’t invite me over a third time.”

“If that happens and he’s not a minor anymore, go for it,” Ruben patted his back. “I’ll root for you. He was cute when he was a baby. I bet he’s a real heartthrob when he’s an adult.”


	5. Growing up

For Milot, the following years were very difficult. Ever since his tenth birthday, his vision of the world changed. He was an adult, an immortal being living inside a child’s body. It was a completely new experience for him and despite his need to grow up into an adult, he decided to enjoy every day and see what this mortal life had to offer. There were plenty of times when he blurted out logical answers to impossible questions and afterward had to explain how he could possibly know something like that or use his best arguments to back up claims. Usually, he just muttered something about random science articles that he liked to read and added that the information wasn’t always that reliable.

He also learned how to persuade his parents and his request to get a new pet was quite easily allowed. Six months after his idea, he got a well-insulated package in post that contained their newest family member. The tiny sling that emerged from the small deli cup looked incredibly cute and vulnerable. Pawie stuck his nose way too close and the sling immediately assumed a threat posture. The cat immediately fell in love and when they were alone, he solemnly promised to keep the little guy or girl safe. During the next months and years, Milot sometimes woke up when the cat jumped down from his bed and next to the enclosure. There it would sit, sometimes for hours, and talk to the little hairball inside. During the years, Milot got used to Pawie’s quiet voice and its constant chatter didn’t bother him anymore. But Pawie was rather disappointed when it turned out that the spider couldn’t talk. That didn’t stop him from talking to it and hoping that one day it would learn and answer back to him. Milot had to remind him to keep his voice down during the nights. For that promise, Pawie demanded plenty of tummy rubs, even more, treats and playtime.

As for school, it turned out to be a simple past time for him. He didn’t even have to try and always got the highest scores and grades. That didn’t make him proud or arrogant though, but he was always supportive of others and looked at his accomplishment as something that had very little meaning to him. His friendship with Tommy deepened and as they became rowdy teenagers, Tommy introduced first of his many, many girlfriends to him. The couple dated for a month and then Tommy appeared behind his door with a bottle of vodka he snatched from his parents and they drank his heartaches away. The next morning was pure hell for both of them, but Tommy’s heart was healed and he was clearly ready for the next adventure love had to offer for him.

Sometime later Milot’s dad guided his son to the kitchen, offered him a root beer, cleared his throat, and passed him a pack of condoms. Without blushing or stuttering in the least, his dad talked to him like an adult and covered topics from all the way from unwanted pregnancies to sexually transmitted diseases. Milot loved his dad and despite being hundreds of years older than him, he listened to him without interrupting, nodded his head, and then promised to be careful. Before he was able to get up and leave the room, his dad continued and said that he had to use a condom whether it was a boy or a girl he was with. Milot froze and stared at his dad. ”Just in case,” he smiled and muttered.

He didn’t really understand what his father meant, but a couple of months later Tommy came clean and told him that he was a bisexual. It didn’t take more than that for him to connect the dots. Tommy was attracted to men. His parents must have known it. And so, Tommy’s parents shared the information with his parents. And since they were good friends, they might do some “ _experimentation_ ” together. Milot sighed and shook his head. He hadn’t had any girlfriends nor was he interested in them. And ultimately his dad was right. He was interested in men. But not in his best friend Tommy or some stranger that walked past him the street. There was a certain _young_ _man_ he was waiting for. Yes, Dorian had lived on the Plains for seven hundred years but compared to his immortal existence, he could be considered a young man indeed. But by the looks of things, he still had to wait for a couple of years and ultimately find out where he lived and what he did. He knew he could probably “ _invite_ ” him for visit at any time but angering Dorian was not a good idea, at least for now.

Life as a mortal still took him by surprise every now and then and every time it happened, he just wanted to laugh because things didn’t happen unexpectedly in the place where he had resided so many centuries. He knew every corner and every feeling of his own world, but life on the Plains was drastically different with so many variables and emotions that he couldn’t anticipate them all. 

He didn’t anticipate that his tarantula turned out to be a female. He was under the impression that tarantulas lived, like any other insects, a month or so, maybe up to two years until they died. After some research, he found out that his little lady could live up to be twenty or even older. That’s what you get for being careless, he told himself when he gently tapped the glass in the enclosure and its angry, hairy inhabitant rushed out from its hide and raised up its front legs. If he accidentally invited Dorian over and he’d start to bombard him with endless questions, he could just let his little lady handle him. But now he was stuck with his femme fatale for the next twenty years or so. Even if he gained Dorian’s trust in the future and got him to visit without dragging him to his place against his will, he would probably drop dead as soon as he saw the cute little nightmare. But there was no way he could give up her now. Like Pawie, Esmeralda was part of his family now. No matter how much she threatened and hated him with her very existence.

Milot and Tommy were the best of friends throughout their youth. They shared almost everything together, from their rowdy teenage parties to slow Saturday afternoons when they played videogames and talked about girls, boys, sex, and all the things in between. Being with Tommy was easy and effortless. He never asked him for explanations of all the things he just somehow knew and just accepted him as he was. To Tommy, he was just Milot, the one friend he could talk about almost anything.

Then, one spring afternoon he once again came to visit him after school. He seemed troubled and distraught and soon enough he told he said that his dad got a job in another part of the country and they would move at the end of the summer. He didn’t want to move and he’d had a huge argument with his parents about it, but he was only fourteen, there wasn’t much he could do about it. The boys sat together at the backyard, drank a couple of sodas, and talked about all the years they spent together. It was the last time they saw each other in years. When Tommy and his family packed their belongings and left at the beginning of August, Milot didn’t know would he ever see his friend again.

They wrote some emails, sent messages back and forth but eventually as days turned into weeks, the messages and calls grew further apart until they faded away completely. Milot understood that Tommy found new friends because in his last messages he told him about them. And it seemed he also found new girlfriends, not just one but many. Milot lost count after the fifth one. Slowly but surely Tommy adjusted to his new home. He missed his friend terribly, but ultimately Tommy’s picture faded and he didn’t think about him daily anymore. Eventually, he found some new friends as well and although none of them ever replaced Tommy, years ate away his image. And when Milot’s eighteenth birthday rolled around the corner just after Christmas celebrations, Tommy’s name didn’t even cross his mind anymore.


	6. 18th birthday

When it came to choosing what he would do with his life, his parents didn’t pressure him. His father secretly wished he would follow in his footsteps and apply to study law at the university. He certainly had the brain for it. As a teenager, he excelled in math and was able to defend his reasons and his opinions accurately and without mixing feelings into his arguments. When he graduated from secondary school, he was at the top of his class. But he was not proud of this achievement since he didn’t consider himself being at the same level as the other kids. It wasn’t fair towards them and he never highlighted or bragged with his test scores.

By now he had realized that trying to hurry through his youth would not make him grow any faster and thus he adjusted to whatever his current situation was. He was not rushing anymore. He worked the autumn in his father’s law firm, made coffee, copied some documents, attended some boring meetings, and learned the things he could. But he really had no interest in the field and he felt like there was something else he wanted to do.

Since he owned an angry female tarantula and a talking cat, he considered veterinary science or medicine for a while. He teased Pawie that if he actually became a vet, he would take the cat as his personal assistant and use him as his guinea big for new vaccines and injections. Pawie was not amused and refused to talk to him or sleep next to him for the next two weeks. Seeing how upset his little pal was, he ultimately decided to forget that path as well.

Like many things in life, his career path was also decided by a whimsical, almost accidental click of the mouse when he was browsing through the web. Another rogue ball that life on the Plains just tossed at his lap. He found glass blowing. For some reason, YouTube dropped it into his “recommended” bar and he only had to watch one short video of it and he was completely smitten. Suddenly a whole new world opened in front of his eyes. A world made of glistening sweat, muscles, rhythmic moves, scorching heat, and seductive, transparent curves and lines. Like an addictive book or a series that hooks you and ropes you in, he just had to see one more video, read one more chapter, or see one more episode.

When he told his parents, practically screamed it at their faces, what he wanted the do, they glanced at each other but had no objections. They reminded him that being a craftsman required patience, a lot of work, and even a bit of luck to succeed in the modern world. Nobody appreciated handmade art these days. No matter what you created, you could just buy the same kind of vase or decoration from China, only a lot cheaper. Their words didn’t discourage him; he simple smiled at them and was brimming with confidence. He had mostly drifted through his childhood and his youth but now he had a goal he really wanted to work for. He applied to the school and got an invitation for an entrance exam. So he went, sure of himself, and fell flat on his face. He discovered that he was far from an expert in this field. He blundered like an idiot, failed countless times, and shied away from the heat of the furnaces. But by the end of the day, he was determined to conquer this challenging material. His head was full of ideas and as he poured them all out for the teachers who interviewed him. They smiled and tried to say a word or two in between his enthusiastic bursts.

When he finally received the letter of acceptance, he was walking on clouds for the whole week. He spent the following night watching another bunch of videos he hadn’t seen and once again came to the conclusion that this profession was incredibly sexy. He saw a man with a slender built covered in sweat from head to toe, his tight muscles contracted and flexed under his tank top. It was like filming a highly erotic scene in a very dark room where you could only hear the voices but barely see anything at all. But he was amazed by his skill level, the smoothness, the fluency of his actions. He didn’t make mistakes and he controlled the material just with the quick, professional movements of his body.

Pawie wasn’t impressed and stared at him like he was a lunatic. Esmeralda simply showed her utmost contempt when he talked to her about it, cleaned her enclosure, and replaced her water dish. If his spider could have talked, it might have agreed with Pawie for the first time ever and told him to shut up about it. When he was finished, she turned around and ignored him for the following days.

At the beginning of January, right after Christmas celebrations, Milot’s eighteenth birthday arrived. He knew he still had to wait several years before he could go and find Dorian but at least he wasn’t a minor anymore. His parents had planned quite a celebration for him. In the morning, his mother knocked on his door and walked in with a fashionable yet very casual outfit and placed it on his bed. She knew that Milot didn’t care for fashion and if he had his way, he would have spent the entire day in his worn-out pajama pants and an old, ragged T-shirt. She allowed him to choose his own outfit but demanded that it was at least somewhat festive. After three of four real fights, a week of silent treatment from Milot’s side, and two drawn-out debates, they finally reached a compromise. His outfit consisted of a pair of blue jeans, a white collared shirt, and a light grey cardigan. His mother wanted him to wear nice shoes but socks were sacred to him, especially during the winter. He agreed to everything else as long as he didn’t have to wear shoes indoors. He pulled on a pair of black, hand-knitted wool socks and he was ready to go. When he walked to the living room, his dad emerged from the garage with a crate full of sparkling wine.

The guests were supposed to come at 3 PM. Before that, his mother winked at her husband and after some suspicious whispering, they secretively left the house. His father said that he forgot some important documents at the office and he absolutely had to go and get them. It was Saturday and clearly, his father could fetch his documents on Sunday, well before the week began. Milot raised his eyebrows and knew there was definitely something else behind their sudden trip to the city but when his mother kissed him on the cheek and smiled softly, he didn’t prevent them from going. As soon as they were out of the door, Pawie jumped after him, followed him to the kitchen, and demanded a big piece of the cake. Milot firmly refused and told him that it was not healthy for a house cat, and especially for an old grandpa like he was. Pawie was immediately offended. He scrunched his little face, hopped on to the sink, and from there on top of his shoulders, and displayed his amazing balance.

“I was not always a cat!” it groaned right into his ear. “When I was a bird, you didn’t care if I ate rotten corpses or a rat every now and then! Hell, you even threw me a couple of eyeballs!”

“That was then,” Milot tried to pry his claws off without getting his new cardigan torn to pieces. “Now you are a sophisticated house cat. Act like one.”

“I was literally crushed under your dad’s car once already,” Pawie argued. “There's nothing more unhealthy than dying. But I was yanked out of my grave because you supposedly needed and missed me. A piece of cake won’t do me any harm. Now, give it!”

Pawie climbed on top of his head and tried to reach the fridge. Milot leaned back and the tomcat almost tumbled right into the sink. At the last minute, it managed to turn around and dug its claws deep into the boy's scalp. The pain made Milot curse out loud and he hurried into the bathroom, stepped under the shower, and was ready to soak them both if the cat didn’t let go. As soon as Pawie saw the threatening shower head above, it let out a loud scream, hissed, and jumped to the floor.

“You. Dare!” it growled at him and all its hair stood on its body. Its tail was twice as thick as it used to and it looked like a teddy bear that someone stuffed into an electrical outlet and gave a severe jolt.

“Your choice, pal,” Milot rubbed his head. “An unplanned shower or…”

“Fine!” Pawie groaned dramatically. “Just act like I never mentioned it.”

“Your claws as sharp as fuck!” Milot kept rubbing his head and Pawie licked his paws like nothing could get to him anymore. “You almost scalped me.”

“You’re immortal,” Pawie replied. “Don’t give me that shit.”

“I used to be,” Milot sighed. “Now I’m not so sure anymore. So, in order for you to not accidentally kill me in your righteous anger, how about instead of cake, I’ll give you something else?” Milot soothed him. “Shrimps, maybe?”

“R…r…really?” Pawie’s eyes flashed with desire, his tongue stopped in the middle of a serious cleaning session, he lifted his tail and followed the boy back to the kitchen. “You better not be kidding…shrimps…”

“I’ll have to cook them first,” Milot opened the freezer. “Be patient.”

In a half an hour Pawie was content, his stomach filled and he lay down on the kitchen floor, stretched, and closed his eyes. Milot smiled, knelt down, and rubbed his tummy. Soon enough it’s comforting, familiar purring was the only sound to be heard in the house.

“Are mom and dad coming back soon?” Pawie finally yawned. “It’s been over an hour already. It shouldn’t take long for them to drive to dad’s office and back.”

Milot glanced at the clock. Pawie was right. It had been over an hour. The guests for the party would only arrive in two hours so he wasn’t that worried yet. He picked up his phone and dialed his dad’s phone number. No answer. His other hand still caressed Pawie’s fur when he selected his mother’s number. Still – no answer. He looked outside and realized that the short winter day was starting to dim already and the pale sun was setting behind the trees as the twilight slowly walked into the room.

Half an hour passed. Pawie stopped purring. Milot picked up his phone again and now Pawie sat next to him in the middle of the kitchen floor. Its yellow eyes looked up at him and it leaned closer, suspecting, knowing but still hoping it wasn’t true. It lifted its paws on his other leg and pumped his head against his. His hands trembled when he selected his father’s number.

No ringtone. No answer.

The room was darker now. The shadows hugged the walls and slowly crept closer. The champagne glasses that his mother put on the table still held the last beams of light of that cold afternoon sun. One final call to his mother’s phone. Nothing. 

When his arm fell to his lap, as his phone hit the floor, Pawie crawled into his lap and gently nudged his face with its own. They both knew for a fact they would never see their parents again. The last kiss on Milot’s cheek was indeed the last he ever received from his mother. The last caress on Pawie’s soft fur was the last one it ever received from their father. Now they were alone, just the two of them.

I can’t yank them back like Pawie, Milot thought in his hazy mind. I could try but it wouldn’t work. And it wouldn’t be right. I have to let them go. The price I will pay. The price I will pay. 

_It is my birthday after all._


End file.
